Surgery went well and I am home resting. Pain seems ok for now. Thanks everybody for your prayers- gosh do I feel incredibly loved. I am back on not lifting anything heavy for two weeks- that means no lifting Cora. If you need a baby fix, come on over, we would love to see you!
Scanxiety … It’s a real thing and I’m probably not the first cancer patient to blog about it or the first cancer patient to experience it. But here I am at Dana Farber in the woman’s only waiting room for my 2 o’clock mammogram with a lump in my throat, tightness in my chest and some very sweaty palms. I’m looking around at all the other ladies trying to figure out what there story is. Anything to take the focus off me. Looking for something else I could possibly do, I thought “hey, I will write a blog post”.
The road has been long and the dust is starting to settle. I had a job interview this week for some part time work. I keep thinking normalcy is right around the corner. OR… in just a few hours things can completely change again. I know the likely hood of that is small but there is still a possibility. You see, as survivors, when we hit remission we’re not out of the park. The next five years we are on standby. A waiting process to see if the cancer will return. Most of the time we can attempt to move on and live. But when it is time to report for our next check-up scan all of the memories come rushing back. The fear. The unncertainity. The anxiety.
So, I sit here ignoring the pit in my stomach trying to hold it together. I will say a prayer and think of all the people who love me and have been supporting me. I will think of my sweet baby Cora who ALWAYS brings a smile to my face. I will take a deep breath and know that what ever is to happen is completely out of my control. I’m sure it will be fine, I am sure I will be fine.
Once again breast cancer has shown how merciless and cruel of a disease it is. I will always remember Marisa Federico, that infectious smile of hers and her kind heart. Although we haven’t hung out since high school – we did reconnect – actually, now I am thinking about it it was probably, exactly a year ago and I will never forgot how gentle and encouraging her voice and her words were. We chatted a few times when I was first diagnosed with the same disease. She took time out of her day, her treatment, to make sure I was ok. She gave me hope and peace of mind when she I’m sure, already had enough “cancer” on her plate. A true hero. I drew my strength from her and continued on with my fight. Thank you Marisa- you touched me more than you will ever know. You gave me hope when I had none.
Life is unfair and it breaks my heart over and over again of why she had to go to soon. I just want to hug all of her friends and family and tell them how truly sorry I am. I just want to scream out in anger, bitterness yelling why, why, why, f*%! You cancer!!!! But, that does nothing except fuel the nasty beast that cancer wants to turn us into.
What I can do is promise, promise everyone I will continue to fight, fight for me and fight for Marisa. I will do everything in my power to continue to use our stories to help raise more awareness for early detection and raise money to help find a cure. I will continue to give hope to other women with breast cancer just as Marisa did for me.
Shine down on us Marisa and know that you will never be forgotten. You continue to be present in so many of our lives you have given so much more that will never be forgotten and I will help make your legacy last. This is my promise to you Marisa.